


that would be enough

by phantompaladin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But there's also closure, I promise, Lance giving in to his charms, M/M, There's a lot of pain here, shiro being a cuddly boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 04:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17155091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantompaladin/pseuds/phantompaladin
Summary: Lance can't always uphold the strong demeanor he's founded himself upon but Shiro makes sure to always be there to catch Lance when he falls.





	that would be enough

It's not something he thinks he'll ever grow accustomed to - the sobriety of these nightmares and how the echoes of past mistakes constrict around his heart, pulling, tethering him under like withered souls wailing in agony for second chances.

It's different every time, each distorted scene depicting Shiro, glorious in his prime, the definitive burn of his entirety announced all at once, and for a moment everything ceases, noise ebbs away and the bustle of the universe comes to a collective hush as they look on, content to just bask in the presence of this powerful enigma who had the ichor of the gods flowing in his veins.

It changes, drastically, a blind chase within a labyrinth shrouded in darkness. Shiro is stripped of his glory, a prince forced to go against his morals. Nothing was beautiful about this fall from grace, nothing but the way he chooses to sacrifice himself for Lance in one last volition of bravery and the gems that studded his crown are crushed under the heel of his perpetrators, nameless in the urgency to steal what was never theirs to take.

It isn't until Lance is cradling Shiro’s lifeless body that he awakes, with a jolt, and he feels the onslaught of tears in the way his eyes burn. Lance lays in their bedroom, swarmed in memories of their time together, and how this room was Shiro's just as much as it was his. He has the blankets all the way up and over his head, smothering his thoughts, and obscuring the way his lip trembles as he tries and tries to keep the tears from staining his pillowcase. As if somehow his blanket, their blanket, will safeguard him from the horrors of reality - a child's semblance of armor from the clutches of shadowy fingers that grapple at his toes in the dead of night.  
  
Lance is wound too tight, is drowning too deep in the saline of remorse and insecurity that he fails to notice that Shiro has arrived home. 

It's only when Shiro turns the knob to their room that Lance is heaved from his reverie, brought back to face the inevitability that comes with failure. He goes still under the covers, tries to steady his breathing in a feeble attempt to avoid confrontation.

He could picture the furrow of Shiro's brow, the piercing gray of his eyes as they bore into Lance, looking for answers but finding none. None that will suffice the obscurity of Shiro's questioning - the doubt that will settle on his shoulders and even without the words leaving his lips, Lance knows what he wants to say.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

Everything. When everything became something tangible, something cold and sharp that pressed against his jugular, something that threatened the fragile sensibility of Shiro's life. When everything was capable of determining the fate of Shiro's existence and how Lance would never, could never be enough to protect him.  
  
Lance will break, he'll crumble, and whatever resolve he was trying to build will dissolve into the dust of comet tails, forgotten in its rush to remember who it was, where it came from, what it was ought to be. It lingers for a moment, almost grasping a sentience to its ancestry, claws at a string that has the memory tied at its fraying ends. But no, fate does not give up happiness so easily, and Lance is left to deal with a role he cannot grow into, a burden that takes and takes, one that drains the colors that stain his lips when he lies to Shiro about the shadows under his eyes.  
  
It's a monumental thing, to admit that you're hurting, and the biting frost outside only fortifies the chill in Lance's heart. 

Shiro sits at the foot of the bed, inching closer as he pulls the covers down. He doesn't miss the way Lance visibly stiffens and refuses to meet his gaze. It's a feeble attempt at safeguarding any semblance of his pride that he has left over and something in Shiro melts, another of his walls torn down. He is a man of many talents, however, and is never one to give up easily. And getting Lance to succumb to his touch was an art he has come to master. He just had to be careful with his approach on appeasing a turbulent ocean.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind Lance’s ear and his touch lingers just a little longer than usual, and Lance feels warmth bloom in his chest. Despite himself, Lance rises to meet him, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and he spares a glance at Shiro.

Shiro knows that fleeting glimmer of uncertainty that Lance tries so hard to hide behind a veil of confidence and motivation, is all too familiar with the pedestal that Lance has fashioned for himself. It pains him that on most days, Lance often forgets who he is and the greatness he’s meant for, the allure of shielding his fragmented existence behind a Venetian mask of hazy dreams and breathy laughter was a weight he dragged around for too long.

Shiro too has been plagued by nightmares, incessant recoils played in a loop, most of which leave him breathless and have the phantoms of his past persist in the way his scars tingle and throb, reminding him of his sins and all he’s endured to merit another day of survival. He's become acquainted with them and the way they leave him paralyzed in the illumine of twilight. Something about the way Lance tries to hide it has his heart aching - yearning to reach out and show Lance that this wasn't a battle he was ordained to fight alone.

He feels Shiro's touch, gentle and tentative, the gentlest Lance's ever felt it before. His fingertips dance across Lance's cheek bones, an invitation to look at him, to talk, to just be. But looking at Shiro meant unraveling parts of himself that Lance was too tainted to explore, it meant playing into the hands of this fractured puppeteer, fueled only by a demented ploy of sadism.

No, Lance didn't deserve Shiro's kindness. He deserved a touch gone cold and gazes that wavered by a second with each interval. 

Shiro cupped his face in his hands, angling Lance's view so it was parallel with his own. He did nothing for a moment, plaintive, awaiting Lance's answer as he dangled from shrouding himself from prying eyes or bearing his everything for the world to partake in. 

Shiro presses their foreheads together, awaiting Lance's reciprocation.  
“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Lance opens his eyes, finally sees Shiro's gaze settle on him, and its then he feels the searing truth of love and what it truly meant to feel wanted. Tears, for all their omnipotence, have been something familiar to Lance as he lets them flow, overwhelmed by Shiro and his entirety.

Lance shakes his head.  
“Not yet,” he whispers, tinged with the weariness of someone who’s become numb to pain. “Please, just.. Just hold me. Please stay.”

Shiro brings him into a hug, skin against skin, and Lance has to remind himself to breathe. Shiro is okay, he's here, he's - alive.

Shiro only brings him closer, lays them together and takes Lance's hand in one of his own. He presses it against his heart, feels the steady thump, thump, thump right underneath his skin. He’s sure Lance can feel it too, hears his sniffles die down, and the tremble of his shoulders come to a halt. 

Lance untangles himself from Shiro’s hold, and there is a question on the tip of the latter’s tongue, but it quickly vanishes as Lance presses the lightest of kisses to his forehead and settles on Shiro’s chest - his heartbeat a lullaby to Lance’s fatigued soul.

Shiro held Lance until slumber swept him away, in hopes that his dreams will be kinder, a little smoother around the edges compared to the horrific dreamscape he's been subjected to. He twines their fingers - holds their joined hands close to his heart. The reality of being together makes Shiro lose his breath for a solitary moment, and he whispers his love into Lance's crown.  
  
Tomorrow would be a new barter, the looming of a future unknown sweeps fear into Shiro's bones, but he'd stay for as long as Lance would have him.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was so much fun to work on and to my secret santa, I hope I was able to integrate all your prompts into it even though it isn't the most conventional way of doing so. I initially opted for fluff, but try as I might, I never knew how to tackle it so I ended up writing angst instead. Regardless, I still hope you'll like it! ((: Merry Shancemas!


End file.
